


Among the Dead in Gehenna

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Horror, Eating Disorders, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gaslighting, I stg, Like, Mutilation, Other, POV Third Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Real slow, Sadism, Slow Burn, Solitary Confinement, Suicide Attempt, Terrorism, i wrote this as therapy, major trigger warnings, niche appeal brah, watch me remember basic hebrew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the last of his communications before he left the planet again, Hux made sure a confidential message was sent to petty officer Thanisson, heavily encrypted.<br/>-	Sheol Treaty signed. Separate prisoners. Place Dzhugashvili in supermax aboard Finalizer.<br/>He need not say it outright to another trained at the Academy, but the message might as well have read:<br/>-	Break her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Release

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy trigger warnings for any and all of the following:  
> \- terrorism  
> \- body horror  
> \- street violence  
> \- natural disasters  
> \- psychological torture  
> \- prison  
> \- suicidal ideation  
> \- noncon overtones (will not be consummated most likely)
> 
> If there is anything else you feel needs a headsup please please please let me know. I basically wrote this to get some of my own fears/thoughts/neuroticisms out of my head, so I totally expect some people to be unnerved by this.

Katharine Dzhugashvili had lost the use of her left hand ages ago. Lopping it off entirely, however, was a privilege she hadn’t earned. The crushed digits hung limply from the sockets, mangled beyond repair, the ring finger held together only by shreds of flesh, half her index finger gone entirely. In a way it was a mercy – she could hit it, hard, against the door of her cell, and use the blood to mark the days spent inside the windowless walls. It no longer mattered to her that she would never be able to use the thing for its intended purpose again. But still, it hurt, a dull and aching pain that stretched the hours and created a sight so unseemly she could not bear to look at the only thing of interest in her life.

She did not respond to the usual guard’s call, opting instead to stare at the ceiling as she had for hours, counting to the highest number she could think of before losing track, but a second call and the sound of the door swinging open interrupted this reverie.

“Bitch!” came loud and bland from the guard, who gestured with his weapon for her to stand.

This was a day – not the first – that Katharine Dzhugashvili, at the tender age of twenty-five, expected to die.

She had not prepared her speech, was desperately trying to formulate some invective to be cut off by the hail of the firing squad. As she was led, one guard behind and one ahead, through the midi-security floors she saw sad, sympathetic nods half-hidden behind shadow. One near-toothless man grinned widely, his fist clenched in mid-air. The guard behind noted his cell number. Katharine had never thought she would find friends among common criminals.

The bright light of the higher levels made her squint, shift her eyes to the floor. If this was bad, the sunlight on the surface of Sheol might blind her. She had spent many long, lonely days pacing the floor of her cell, wearing the soles of her feet raw, mouthing words she dared not speak aloud, and each step on the long journey to death made her wince. Her wrists chafed against their manacles, the tender skin being rubbed raw.

Katharine Dzhugashvili was going to re-enter the world, and it was planning to destroy her.

* * *

The deal was more than foolish, it was nonsensical. Something was rotten on the planet of Sheol, and the general had sent his men ahead to in find out exactly what.

When he landed, disguised and utterly conspicuous, in the crowded airfield the planet’s brief night hours were reaching their end, a violet sky gradually lightening above.

They all told him: they had found nothing. They said there was nothing to be found. As the light flew in, red and orange and yellow through stained glass windows, the general heard one operative after another repeat the same story, the details barely changing. It was simple, they said:

  * The Sheol government senses dissent.
  * The First Order quiets dissent.
  * The Sheol government is wealthy beyond all belief.



Perhaps against his better judgement, General Hux agreed to negotiations. He had nothing to lose, after all, but his time, and he stood to gain plenty.

The walk from the (unnecessary) mediation room to the negotiating table was brief and solitary; he walked confidently through the corridors of the State Palace of Sheol despite having visited only once before. Their way of running things was certainly opulent, even decadent, but Hux was more impressed by the government’s longstanding hold on power. It was not as sturdy, it seemed, as had been advertised, and he savoured the schadenfreude: he knew that this kind of system always collapsed in the end. Give the mob even the semblance of choice, and watch them tear you down from below. Watch them loot your palaces, burn your treasures, kill your children. All this marble and gold was for naught.

The door was opened for him by a short, thin man who could not meet his eyes. He entered without acknowledging the servant.

“Ambassador Azrael.” A curt nod was the extent of his greeting.

“General Hux.” He returned it, then extended an arm in the direction of a third man, taller, older, sourer, and more severe than either of his colleagues. The deputy ambassador sat first, waiting for the two higher-ranking men to follow his lead.

“I trust you’re well, general?” Azrael continued as he sat down, reaching one hand below the surface of the intricately carved ivory tabletop. By his command, another man, this one dressed in glittering white and gold, came forward, placing a laden tray in the centre of the table.

“Tea, general?”

“Mister Ambassador, I know you’re paid to be diplomatic but I can assure you the pleasantries are unnecessary. How many prisoners are you asking us to monitor?”

“There’s seven of them,” the deputy head began before Hux cut him off.

“Only seven?”

“We’re trying to cut this thing out at the root, you see, these – these seven are catalysts to violence. Rioting. Untold millions and billions in damages, bodies in the streets. That kind of destabilising effect can’t be tolerated.”

“Obviously. But seven people is quite a small revolution. And, instead, you’re choosing to foist them off on the First Order?” Hux let the question hang in the air, the implication clear.

The deputy cleared his throat, more than a little annoyance threaded in his voice.

“There is a way things are done around here. We don’t need martyrs. If we were to…eliminate these individuals as you suggest and that information got out – and these things _have a way_ of getting out – the outcry would be tremendous. But if you take them on board, under higher security, confine them to a military prison – well, anything could happen in a war zone.”

“How dangerous are these individuals?”

“They’re political players, mostly. No military training, just agitators. No problem for an operation such as yours.”

“Really.”

It was not a question.

The two Sheol officials looked across at each other before nodding.

“Really,” said Azrael.

“Very well, then. It should be no problem if I were to screen them personally, no?”

This response came with a little more trepidation.

“No, of course not. But an important man such as yourself-“

Again, a waved hand cut him off. The general was not to be disobeyed.

“If your administration is really willing and able to pay this sum for the care of a handful of common thugs, I want to meet them. I’m better equipped to assess these things than either of you,” he ended his sentence with a hint of malice.

The general was not to be disobeyed. Senior Ambassador Azrael bit his lip, and said, resigned,

“And when would you do that?”

Hux, as confident as ever and now fully in control, leaned back ever so slightly, steepling his fingers on the table.

“Now is as good a time as any.”

* * *

The little man at the door pressed some button hidden in the wall, and spoke into it.

“Seven.”

The door opened behind him. The rear guard stayed there, hands on his weapon.

Katharine was thrown into the one remaining chair with all the hate her guard could muster, and she quickly scrabbled to sit upright, away from the leather – more comfortable that any surface she’d encountered in eighteen months (her own estimation). She fought the urge to sink into it, instead throwing her hands onto the table with a clank of shifting metal. For her boldness she was rewarded with a grimace from the stranger. The other two – she knew them well by now – were no longer shocked by the warped and mangled excuse for the hand that dangled limply from the left manacle.

“State your name,” the senior ambassador spoke, voice firm and clear.

“Katharine Levin Dzugashvili.”

She tried to sound authoritative. Her voice cracked, shaky and hoarse from months of disuse.

“Do you remember why you were imprisoned?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was found guilty and sentenced by a judge.”

Her head was still held high, but she did not meet his eyes.

“What were you found guilty of?” the man’s voice was wearing thin, showing hairline cracks of impatience. He glanced to the guard.

“A cri-“ was all she managed before she was cut off by a screech of pain when the guard slammed the butt of his weapon down onto her useless hand. The bone crunched against the table. The deputy ambassador tutted. She saw no reaction from the stranger.

“What were you found guilty of?”

With tears involuntarily welling, she spat out under flared nostrils, “conspiracy to overthrow the government.”

“Well, she’s got her memory, at least,” remarked the deputy across the table, soliciting only a nod. Through the blurred corner of her eye she though she saw the stranger arch one brow.

The head turned towards her, again.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“No.”

He huffed in annoyance, pressing a button under the table. A screen flashed to life in the air before him, and he paused to flick through screen after screen of names before pulling up her file. He perused it at length before whisking it away with a wave of his hand.

“Katharine,” he said, his tone still decisive but coated deceptive soft, “Do you think you’re going to die today?”

“Yes,” came dispassionately and without hesitation.

“Well, aren’t you in luck,” he spoke down to her, “there’s been a change of plan.”

She blinked but said nothing.

“You’ve heard of the First Order, yes?”

She nodded.

“Answer the question.” His eyes flew again to the guard.

“I know of them, yes.”

“General Hux,” he motioned to the stoic man, “has agreed to take on some of your ilk as part of a larger treaty.”

Before thinking, she responded – “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what this is,” strong, angry words from a weak voice.

Another shriek of pain as the guard grabbed her by the hair, slamming her head down against the table. She tasted blood, righted herself and felt it drip down her chin.

“Count yourself lucky you’re not dead yet, girl,” Azrael sneered.

But that was not lucky at all. Katharine Dzhugashvili wished death upon herself.

Between shaking sobs that wracked her entire body, she grinned, wiping blood away with her tongue only to have it spill out again, dribbling and diluted with saliva, splattering below onto the table, onto the chains between her hands. Her shoulders hunched, her breathing heavy under the wrath she was calling down. She drew in one slow, long breath and looked into the eyes of the Senior Ambassador to the Unknown Regions and Sundry, Leonid A. Azrael, Sr.

“Senior Ambassador,” she paused, breath laboured through her nose, bubbling up blood, “do you know what your son’s last words were? Because I do.”

* * *

In the last of his communications before he left the planet again, Hux made sure a confidential message was sent to petty officer Thanisson, heavily encrypted.

_Sheol Treaty signed. Separate prisoners. Place Dzhugashvili in supermax aboard_ Finalizer _._

He need not say it outright to another trained at the Academy, but the message might as well have read:

_Break her._


	2. A Woman of Means

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, TW warnings for psychological torture and eating disorders.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she woke up in a new cell, this one soft, white, and rounded. There were no sharp corners. A bed that was, shockingly, soft enough – even a pillow. She could sleep and wish away the waking hours, fall into nothingness for long stretches. The holding cell was, surprisingly, private – but not soundproofed. The sound of footfalls in the corridors surrounding her on all sides seemed to appear with regularity, some sets stopping just outside.

The noise began before she could work out the shift schedule, a loud drone interrupted only by the sharp sting of rapid blaster fire, popping up at random, leaving her body sleepless and mind foggy. She tried beating her head against the wall, but it was padded.

For what might have been days she was lost in a world of soft white and harsh noise, but she did not cave. The only respite was the occasional glimpse of what was outside when a trooper would enter, lay down a tray, and exit wordlessly. Each one would leave just as it had arrived.

Troopers were not trained to think for themselves, but regardless, on occasion it did happen. It was FN-1769 who brought the information to the medbay, obeying the only order he had been given: keep the girl alive. He was not going to disobey orders.

* * *

 

Katharine Dzugashvili’s data file quickly grew to at least ten times the size of any other prisoner in the history of the First Order. Granted, most First Order prisoners were executed as soon as they outlived their usefulness, but Katharine had no use. She was a leech, locked away safely in the bowels of the Finalizer, guarded at all times.

 “Again?”

The medic nodded meekly, stepping away. “Again.”

Thanisson rarely regretted gaining the general’s trust, but being placed in charge of his newest pet project was proving a drain on the young man’s limited time and patience. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing small circles against it before sighing.

“What is it this time?”

“Prisoner A19 won’t eat. She hasn’t eaten in at least ten cycles.”

Thanisson lifted three fingers to the ceiling in despair.

“Praise to the Supreme Leader.”

“I know it’s – it’s difficult, but her file says that –“

“I know what the file says. Put her on a feeding tube.”

“A – but –“ the medic stuttered out, conflicted over whether to obey an obviously spurious order or to risk the ire of a ranked officer.

“Do it. She’s to be kept alive under all circumstances. That woman is a very valuable investment,” he commanded, stonefaced, doing his best to sell the line he’d been given.

“Yes, sir,” the medic bowed slightly before being dismissed.

* * *

She fought them. Weak from hunger and sleep deprivation, yes, but she still fought them. She nearly bit through a medic’s finger, hissing and spitting the blood back out at her. Heavy hands pinned her down, she felt a needle prick her, and then the world went dark.

After the third injection they took her body, limp, ragged, and bruised, to the officers’ medbay – a sight nicer than the troopers’.

* * *

She was not pretty, at least, not in her current state. Hair tangled, bones protruding, skin cracked and discoloured where it wasn’t bruised purple. Hux had paged through her files, seen surveillance footage from years past. She was not beautiful, but striking. A dangerous trait for a would-be rebel: an unmistakable face.

This one would take a great deal of work, but that made the reward all the sweeter. The general kept her on bedrest, taking up valuable space. No one under his command dared to oppose his decision.

Ren entered the general’s private quarters in the late hours, not bothering with any sort of decorum, storming in with a billowing black cloud trailing him. The chrome visor betrayed no emotion, but his stance – feet just too far apart, fingers interlaced in front – suggested anger.

“Why is there a common prisoner in the officers’ medbay?”

Hux didn’t bother glancing up from his datapad.

“Intergalactic treaty.”

“You’re wasting limited resources on a prisoner who isn’t even our own?”

“That prisoner is paying for your excursions, so, yes. I suppose I am.”

“I won’t be talked down to, general.”

“And I won’t be backing down from my decision,” he shrugged, offering a slight, conciliatory nod, “it’s a stalemate.”

The commander was at a loss for words. In matters of policy the general always gave in, whether immediately or after relentless attacks. It was not until after he’d walked out in a huff, teeth grinding and thoughts unhinged in his rampage down the hall, that he realised this was not a matter of policy.

* * *

She woke not long after that, coughing up phlegm and attempting to pull a seemingly endless supply of tubes from her arms, legs, chest, face, before the on-duty medics rushed in to stop her. There were new tubes now, these ones pumping in the blood she’d lost.

Still exhausted, she fell back asleep, no longer bloody but still well-marked. The sound of a door sliding open woke her, but she remained eyes closed, breathing still. The medics must talk about her, but she didn’t know what they said.

It was a new voice.

“Madam Dzhugashvili. I know you’re awake.”

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, snapping into alertness, shifting back towards the wall, her good hand balled in a fist. From above her captor replied calmly,

“I’m afraid you’re not in a position to be making demands.”

“It’s A19. That’s my title now. A19.”

He chuckled, the man who had taken her away from a life of misery at home to a life of misery abroad. He actually chuckled, as though she had just made some delightful dinner party quip, the kind you heard at mansions.

“You would think a man _such as yourself_ ,” she sneered, cutting her eyes in contempt, “would have better things to do.”

“As an extraordinary case, you are a priority,” the general began as convincingly as he could, “and will be treated as such. I had you moved to the officers’ medbay. See? Troopers don’t have the luxury of private rooms.”

“Oh, I’m very familiar with the luxury.” She sat up slightly, tossing her hair over one shoulder with a shake of her head, staring straight into his eyes. “You’re not fooling me. We both know it’s in your fiscal interests to keep me alive, and I’m sure that a man _such as yourself_ has no desire to allow anyone besides themselves to get what they want. But I’ll still try, and I’ll find a way. You’re going to keep me alive, and I’ll do my best to die.”

His face betrayed nothing, his voice a hushed monotone. “I’ve ordered the noise torture to cease.”

If he expected a response, he was disappointed.

“I apologise for the actions of my men. They’re not used to keeping prisoners alive – it’s uncharted territory. Nevertheless, it’s,” he sighed, one hand circling pointlessly in mid-air, “it’s a reflection on me. You’ve been entrusted to my care, and I’ve failed.”

“Seems that way.” Her tone was dismissive, her eyebrows raised, but she was not snarling at him anymore, which seemed like an improvement.

“I never formally introduced myself to you, as you’ll find is custom for men _such as myself_ ,” – she snorted – “General Armitage Hux, head officer of the First Order, may it reign eternal.” He offered his hand. She stared at it in disdain until he pulled it away, turning to leave.

“I have the unfortunate feeling I’ll be seeing quite a bit of you, A19,” he said from the threshold.

She narrowed her eyes, drawing a pair of knobbly knees close to her chest.

“…Thank you?”

“With pleasure.” A nod, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I can't write atm. It's awfully depressing. This chapter was never really solid in my outline, so bear with me. The 'good stuff' is coming shortly.


	3. Gallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what am i even doing

She had been returned, significantly brighter-eyed and smoother skinned than when she had left her cell .The changes were only cosmetic. The humiliation of the feeding tube was enough to make her eat, but every bite was torn and gulped down, chewed with vengeance.

She was no longer totally isolated, the noise torture had ceased and she’d occasionally hear sets of steps walking the corridors, combat-issue boots clanging on metallic floors, mentally creating a schedule of guard changes. They were unusual to hear at this hour, especially not a single set. They grew louder, clacking on metal flooring, and then stopped.

“Do you always eat like a feral dog?”

General Hux entered quickly, removing his cap, remaining between her and the only door.

A pair of fiery eyes glared up at him. She hissed through a mouth of bared teeth and bread crumbs before swallowing rapidly, passing the sleeve of her bad hand across her lips.

 “I have table manners. I choose not to use them.”

She tore another chunk of bread between yellowed teeth, not breaking her stare. He was not going to receive any hospitality for her, he soon realised, and sat down beside her without invitation, still clutching his cap in one hand.

Hux felt her weight shift away from him, still on edge. Hunched over with his elbows on his knees, military posture abandoned temporarily, he spoke slowly, looking directly ahead at the shock of orange-red reflected in the metallic surface of the opposite cell wall.

“In the future, it would be possible – should you so desire, of course – to relocate you to more comfortable quarters.”

He was trying to gauge her reaction before continuing – she had stopped fidgeting for the moment, at least.

“I don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

She took an unused utensil in her  hand, drumming haphazardly on the surface of the low table that took up most of her living space.

“I don’t desire. Is that all?”

This took a moment to process, though he now had heard it twice. She had no interest in leaving. No interest in anything outside this box.

Or she was being difficult for the sake of it. He lowered his voice slightly, as though they had any chance of being overheard by someone,

“Madam Dzhugashvili, you are a prisoner, not a monk. The First Order can very much afford to make your sentence more humane.”

“I’m not interested in humanity.”

He sighed, unable to waste more of his time on what for the moment seemed a lost cause. He rose at once, stood rigidly before adjusting his cap, and offered a curt nod.

“I hope you realise this is not something the Order is proposing out of kindness. Recent Order-sanctioned activity on dissenting planets has resulted in an influx of short-stay prisoners. The interrogation unit may need use of this cell.”

“Then let them use it.” Her tone was authoritative where his was wobbly. No matter what the reason, she refused to be moved. He turned his back on her, adopting a military grimace before exiting.

“General Hux,” hearing her again started him before he could press his thumb to the doorlock, “don’t you have subordinates to do this for you?”

He answered without looking back.

“Your case is so unique that it requires my personal attention. I can assure you, if it were possible to hand you off to an underling, I would.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

The door flew open, and though his muscles tensed with the possibility that she might try something, however foolish, a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed she hadn’t so much as blinked, but was staring at him, brow slightly furrowed.

“Which part?”

A swish of the door locking back into place and she was alone again.

* * *

The general had not been lying, she found much to her surprise, when the door to her cell was opened between shift changes and a man was shoved into her cell. His body hit the floor before the door had closed behind him.  


His hands were bound behind him, and she watched him struggle to right himself, squirming on the hard floor. If she had been totally heartless she may have left him like that, and she did consider it before relenting, wrapping her good hand around the chain between his wrists, yanking him backwards til his head hit the wall.

Sheol had a majority human population, but Katharine was no backwater fool.

“Chiss, huh?” she said, rather than asked, settling back down to sit crosslegged across from her new cellmate. He was old – too old to be thrown around like a ragdoll without consequence – but not decrepit, his hair showed few strands of grey strewn through deep black. She had read that Chiss had glowing eyes, and she imagined them like hot coals, not like this, deep and weeping red, like fresh blood.

He blinked rapidly in response, registering her presence, her cold, draining stare boring through his skull.

“Yes – yes, I am Chiss,” he answered breathless, shocked and relieved – the girl didn’t intend on hurting him, he assumed.

“Csilla? Is that where we are?”

“No – not anymore,” he hesitated over each word, confused by how casual – almost bored – his cellmate seemed to be.

“Then where are we?” She was more urgent this time, pressing him further for information he didn’t have.

“I don’t know – they took the whole settlement, even the children,” his voice was softer now, reality finally setting in after the chaos, “they took my children.”

Katharine had expected Chiss tears to be red, maybe even bloody. They were not.

A long, uneasy silence took over the room, punctuated only by sobs as the massive man’s shoulders shook with grief. The First Order didn’t hold prisoners.

Katharine reached across the cell with her good hand, grabbed his forearm and attempted a reassuring squeeze.

“Pull yourself together. Have some dignity.”

He didn’t answer. She held on tighter.

“You can face death with honour.”

He jerked away from her touch, eyes still cast down to the floor.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. They took everyone but the old.”

“What use are the old?”

When he next spoke it was a whisper, directed at no one.

“They made us kill them.”

She snorted, stifling a giggle.

“If it’s so upsetting, why’d you do it?”

“I – I don’t know. I just thought-“

“You know you’re not leaving here, wherever here is,” she gestured, her broken hand flopping loosely with the sweep of her wrist, “alive.”

That had ignited something in the stranger. He bolted upright,  shoulders pinned behind him by choice (and force) now, his gaze severe and chin held high.

“I have information that’s useful to the First Order – I can barter that for my children’s lives. Maybe even my own.”

“Yeah? What information?”

“Are you familiar with the Csillia Expeditionary Library?”

“I can’t say I am.”

“Well, I am. And when I give its location to the Inquisitor-?”

“The Inquisitor?” she broke in, a lopsided grin just barely held in.

“The Inquisitor. Kylo Ren.”

She barked out a laugh, shook her head.

“You’re not bargaining with any inquisitor. You and your village were taken for parts.”

The arrogance and the horror of her words struck him immediately. She had to be right. She was so sure she was right.

The two never spoke again, and it was only a matter of shift changes, of cells emptying out and bodies opening up, before her brief cellmate was taken away to see the Inquisitor. Kylo Ren. She almost envied him, mentally wishing him a quick death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stg this thing has an outline and planning and everything - I have no idea why I just can't write at the moment.


	4. Temporary Relief (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for gaslighting. There should be another chapter posted shortly.

 “Taxing day, sir?” Petty Officer Thanisson saluted the general as he walked past, leaving his post at the shift change – unusual to say the least.

“Very,” was Hux’s only reply, not bothering to break stride on his way back to his quarters.

To call Armitage Hux a patient man would be to misunderstand him; he was not patient, but predatory, and more than that, selective.

The door shut behind him, Hux was left to the privacy and comfort of his own company, alone among a sea of people. He clapped his hands once; the sound of ivory keys filled the air.

They were easy to spot among the newest recruits, the ones with hair out of regulation style, the pretty girls who met his eyes and shook their heads in a little show of superiority. It was well known in the Academy, whispered between dormitories by women old enough to know better, _General Hux always picks the best for his personal crew_. They were so certain.

The sound of water spitting against tile, a large, long shower being one of the few luxuries the general allowed himself on a regular basis. He ran his fingers through close-cut hair, the gel that kept it in place washing out.

He’d leave them alone for a trial period, if they proved themselves capable they were left untouched, admired from a distance. But with the incompetent ones – the ones whose attitude far outweighed their abilities – he could play.

The hot water pattered against his pale, slightly reddening chest as he leaned back onto the wet wall of his personal shower, one hand behind his head, the other snaking in.

Each one required a different method. The truly prideful ones would balk at any suggestion that might impugn their professional abilities – he had heard these exact words pouted from the lips of angular, grey-eyed beauty with too much tongue and too little sense, back before he had perfected the game. These took the longest, hovering just near enough to linger in their thoughts, lurking over their shoulder, a constant reminder of what was just outside of their reach.

He wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, half-hard from the memories of taking her from behind. She had called him ‘sir’ in bed.

The ambitious ones would jump at the slightest hint of interest, and find themselves demoted further and further through the ranks until they snapped, begging for the briefest audience with the general, crying and babbling, baffled about where they had gone so very wrong when they had been told – had records, even – that showed they had such innate talent, that they didn’t understand what they had done to deserve this, that they had never intended anything untoward, and was there anything, any possible way they could salvage their dignity, their career, their self-respect? He lied and told them there was.

A sharp intake of breath as he moved faster, tugging with a calloused palm, a slow and stilted exhale when he envisioned one who had sobbed silently as he fucked her, who had begged him afterwards to look over this indiscretion, and how her eyes had shined when he agreed.

The chase was different, the end result all the same, melting into one long, agonising encounter; he remembered it in amber snatches through a fog, points of refuge on a menacing city street – the girl won, the body possessed, then shipped off to some minor outpost. He never sent them to reconditioning, knowing they would remember their night or two with the general for the rest of their lives, knowing they would never again reach those heights.

His breath was coming quickly now, the water and precum lubricating him, bringing him closer to his release, and he groaned thinking of how, once the fire behind her eyes had finally been extinguished, this new girl would look between his legs. Would her stare be dull? Perhaps adoring? They were, sometimes, but she was different. He had no power over her yet.

Her, naked, shivering under his slightest touch, her legs wrapped around him, her ass jiggling under the strength of his hand, her hands bound, her body exposed – his new toy, tamed and trained.

It only took a few moments to dry his hair in the ‘fresher before stepping out.  His mind blank, his body cleansed, his uniform crisp and harp as always, he lit out for cell A19.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its the best i got bruh


	5. Enquiry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw for violence
> 
> I apologise for the terseness/shortness of these chapters, btw. I'm trying to break the writers block and for some reason it's coming out like a drunk Joseph Conrad wrote fanfic.

The general had been seen in the interrogation holding cells with an alarming frequency in recent months. His biometric ID showed him entering, arriving at cell A19, and leaving a few hours later each time, at least once a week, for six weeks now. It was hardly official, but the entire population of the _Finalizer_ (perhaps bar one) knew the Interrogation Deck was the near-exclusive territory of the Knights of Ren. In spite of his constant insistence on order, obedience, and duty, General Hux lacked any sense of decorum.

Kylo Ren, who in turn, lacked any ability to compromise, decided to remove the source of the problem altogether. Unable to permanently eliminate her, he improvised the next best solution.

The next unscheduled block in the general’s schedule, in the very last hours of his standard day – how he found the time, Ren neither knew nor cared – would be spent alone.

Katharine did not bother protesting when two troopers ordered her out, one each side, heavily armed to escort the unarmed and severely atrophied woman through the ear identical corridors of the Finalizer – the only indication of their changing decks was the addition of two glowing bands of red casting down light from high upon the walls.

She was deposited without ceremony in a room perhaps twice the size of her cell, unfurnished but for a large metal slab propped against the far wall. She asked nothing of the guards, who she knew by now rarely responded with more than a grunt or nod. Alone again, confused but unperturbed she began pacing the dark room, feeling out the length of it, one hand lightly tracing the walls.

She had to find a mental map of the place, and found it almost soothing to walk, heel to toe, one side to another, then in circles, the sound of footfalls on permasteel flooring ringing against metallic walls, so loud, so frequent, so consuming that it took her a moment to register the swish of the interrogation unit opening and closing again.

Light filtered down from above, revealing the figure before her. It was as if all the room’s blackness had pooled together into this walking shadow. It stalked closer, taking three long strides that closed the pace between them, and a cold, unreadable visor stared down at her.

“Well?”

“Yes.”

If he expected more from her – and he did – she disappointed. Usually the sight of the fearsome Kylo Ren, terror of the galaxy, alone was enough to break to resolve of most Order victims. It was a pity he couldn’t kill her.

“Prisoner A19.”

“Yes.”

“General Hux takes an unusual amount of interest in you,” he began, dragging out each word, giving her ample time to cave.

“Does he? I wouldn’t know.”

“You see him regularly.”

“He sees me.”

“He sees you?” he repeated back, inviting her to elaborate, hoping to gather all he could by choice before taking by force.

“Yes,” she shuffled back just a half-step, but that was enough to know he had her.

 “Do you have any idea why that might be?”

Her cast flickered to the side, away from the unceasing black stare, her voice dropping. Her tone could almost be called conversational, almost, if every word, every action of hers seemed designed to hinder conversation.

“General Hux seems to believe I lack a certain mental stimulation. I suppose he’s taken it upon himself to resolve this.”

“Has he told you as much?” he moved closer, any distance that had existed between them was gone now, the masked man bearing down on her. She twitched. He noticed.

“No.”

“Fascinating.”

He remained close, heard her breathing slowly, deliberately, felt her confusion, her apprehension. He waited.

“Commander Ren?”

 “Yes?”

“Why am I here?”

Though the question was genuine, no accusatory, Katharine regretted asking it immediately.

“Because. The general takes an unusual interest in you. If I know why, I can better keep him out of my domain.”

Her lips parted slightly before she spoke again.

“I think there’s a simpler solution.”

“I don’t intend to kill you.”

“It would solve your problem. And mine.”

“Don’t try to distract me. Do you know why the general spends so much of his precious time with you?”

Neither of them need to voice the nature of it. Katharine was a common hoodlum. She knew that, and was proud, too proud for her own good. She replied only with a knowing glance to the side, a slight shrug of the shoulders.

“The general is a duplicitous man. I wouldn’t trust anything he says.”

“He says you’re a fool.”

“Careful, girl.”

She could not hear his irritation through the mask, but she could see a gloved fist curl into itself. Kylo Ren’s temper was one thing the general had not lied about.

“He says that you live in your family’s shadow.”

“Don’t test me.”

“He says you’re a craven opportunist. Out for his own glory.”

“Enough.”

She tried to bite back again, but her throat was rapidly closing shut, her lungs could find no air, she was dizzy, light-headed, black dots surrounded the black figure; she choked on the oxygen she needed.

When she woke up in the officer’s medbay for the second time, Katharine Dzhugashvili feared death for the first time in her adult life. She feared death, and she feared the Inquisitor, Kylo Ren.


	6. Interlude

Thanks to recent breakthroughs in literary technology it is now possible to retreat, back from the beginning of this narrative, to a formative moment in the thus far short life of Katharine Dzhugashvili.

You now know that in the centre of the Sheoli capital of Gehenna, there is a square, each brick lain by hand and hewn from shining alabaster. When the sunlight hits the plaza at midmorning, it glows with reflective light that shines upwards towards the sky in a lazy halo of gold, painting the statues of the capital’s centrepiece in fiery bronze and molten silver . But it is best viewed from a distance, the light blinds and the heat burns.

From a window high above the city, at a young age not otherwise specified, Katharine watched a nanny chase a misbehaving child into the glow. The woman and her charge vanished for only a moment before emerging, unscathed.

Every so often she would cast a glance from her promontory, but she never again saw someone enter and exit the glow; rather, people flooded from the square and lingered in the broad avenues that surrounded it on all sides, harried civil servants with eyes downcast, throngs of visiting schoolchildren, amateur pickpockets testing their luck among easy targets.

Katharine has seen this view from the windows of the state palace, from the sewer grates of the Museum of Gehenna, from the rooftops of sympathetic locals, but it was only on that day that a small girl sat in a bay window of her parent’s well-appointed flat, that Katharine Dzhugashvili saw for herself that people feared what could not harm them, and obeyed without question.

And now that you know, you can return back to where we left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: has an extremely detailed outline of where this is going  
> also me: I have no idea what's happening


	7. On Crossing Barriers

“You know how he is,” the medic offered weakly. She had treated enough victims of Commander Ren’s hair-trigger temper to thin that a living victim was in itself a success.

“I suppose I do, doctor, but when someone’s disposition is indiscriminately murderous, I’m not inclined to tolerate it. Where is she?”

“Ward Three.”

In a way he could be thankful to Ren for handing him the opportunity to act the saviour, but considering he had nearly strangled the Order’s cash cow only a fortnight before he was to meet with the Sheoli council again, he was less than enthused.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said, standing the doorframe until she nodded, allowing him inside.

“You do seem to spend an inordinate amount of time here, madam. Is your cell not to your liking after all?”

“Don’t try to be clever, general. It doesn’t suit you.”

“We’ll have to disagree on that. The medics have approved your discharge. I’d recommend you move quickly, there’s never enough beds here.”

“Fine with me.”

She moved to sit at the edge of the bed but found her feet blocked by a pair of immaculate boots, and a hand outstretched only inches from her face.

“Please, allow me.”

She looked up at him with tired eyes from under furrowed brows.

“No, thank you.”

“The Commander is usually skulking around the Interrogation Deck. I hate to think what might happen should you run into him alone.”

She took his hand.

The walk back to cell A19 was short, but Katharine, unused to any activity but pacing a dozen lengths back-and-forth, moved stiff and slow. She and Hux were given a wide berth by any officer who came across the unusual pair walking arm-in-arm, their only acknowledgement a formal salute given in passing. They moved past the ship’s information hub and the crowds along the corridors thinned out, leaving only the echoes of footsteps.

“I must apologise for Ren’s behaviour, seeing as he’s unlikely to do it himself. I can assure you I’ve already spoken to him about this.”

“Mmm.”

Despite her evident disinterest, he carried on, maybe more for his own sake than hers.

“He’ll learn, though – with time. He’s only just joined the Order this year, he hasn’t grown up with it like the rest of us– he’ll fall in line. It won’t happen again.”

She snorted. “You really believe that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re more of a fool than I thought.”

It would have been easy for him, physically and psychically, to stop where he stood and let her tumble to the ground on atrophied legs. Instead, he placed one thumb on the biometric scanner of the Interrogation Deck, and ushered her through.

“As I’ve made clear to you, madam, if you feel you’re in significant danger for any reason, it’s no problem to have you relocated. Perhaps to somewhere nicer than the medbay, even.”

“Cleverness doesn’t suit you, general. I’d hate to have to say it a third time.”

* * *

 

He’s in a room, a dark room, fidgeting at the head of a rickety table. The air is thick with blue smoke and he does not cough, but sucks it down from the hand-rolled cigarillo tucked between two fingers. He watches it burn down while the chatter around him devolves into nonsense, waits until it’s dropping ash beneath his fingers to crush it in his palm, grimacing from the pain. He feels a hand on his shoulder, a young man he doesn’t recognise, with harsh eyes and a mouth in a permanent scowl. He opens it to speak and

He’s running, there is screaming behind him and sirens beside him, he sees a girl, no older than fifteen, tackled to the ground by two men in white and gold. She shrieks in pain. He doesn’t stop. He can’t stop

An older man glares down at him, and he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, but he feels guilt, and he feels shame.

* * *

Kylo Ren rose from his genuflection, helmet tucked at his side. Even at his full height, his head craned up to the ceiling, to meet the perplexed gaze of his master.

“The intrusions won’t stop, master.”

Kylo Ren was no stranger to foreign thoughts occupying his mind – some unexplained, but most easily traceable.

It was the curse that went hand-in-hand with his extraordinary gifts; his mind was permeable to sharp words and strong emotions. Under his new master’s training, he had learned to build mental barriers, shoring up his defences. Now it seemed a full year’s worth of training might be undone.

Sometimes, when the general delivered a speech by holonet to the Order, Ren would be incapacitated for days, his mind pounding with waves of loud, mindless, ravenous praise for the Order, his brain flooded with the sheer volume of vitriol. This came in snatches of angry spittle, in chunks of speeches that proclaimed _an end to chaos_ and the _supremacy of our mission_. He suspected Hux knew this, but had never told him, unwilling to grant him any sort of leverage.

 “This isn’t like the others, master. This is – strange. This girl – one of Hux’s little sluts, no doubt - has no ability with the Force.”

“And you’re certain she’s the cause of them?”

“It’s only a theory.”

Snoke considered this for a moment, nodding with a tired, sagacious air. He spoke down to the knight.

“My apprentice, the Force works in ways even its ablest students may never comprehend.”

The young man’s face fell, his eyes wide with equal part doubt and admiration.

“You – you don’t know why?”

“I’ll need to give it some thought. Perhaps when we next meet in person we can discuss it further. But – “ his tone changed sharply “ – it would be most unwise for you to allow this to disrupt your training.”

The knight bowed his head in respect.

“I will not fail you, master.”

Snoke’s face, unseen to his underling, was caught in a warped rictus, the best he could manage for a grin.

“We will see, Knight of Ren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god I'm still alive. I'm going to be more active in the next month, hopefully, now that life is a lot less hectic. I don't know how much desire I have to continue with this particular story, but I'll be posting various reader inserts in the coming weeks.


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